


into the sun and behind the gossip

by johnil



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hollywood, How Do I Tag, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rock and Roll, Unrequited Hate, idiots to lovers, the dreamies are aged up in this but it's for plot purposes lol they dont do anything weird, they do drink though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnil/pseuds/johnil
Summary: Famed actor Na Jaemin's manager is convinced that if he dates Lee Donghyuck, the frontman of a rising LA band, his reputation with the press will improve. Donghyuck isn't so easily swayed.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin, Minor Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Liu Yang Yang
Comments: 28
Kudos: 206
Collections: ’00 FIC FEST: ROUND ONE





	into the sun and behind the gossip

**Author's Note:**

> *strums guitar* nahyuck nation this one's for you
> 
> donghyuck's band is called deep six, and [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3VYmF9UPecucUOpCBQ8JnX?si=AIvWU8fqSu-92WJL2hgzIg) is a playlist of their music! all their songs mentioned in the fic are real songs with the exception of gemini.
> 
> also, [here's](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0t7OtQtkz4STgEZSwlYD6p?si=yfUyTrUzRuS5DPyT6CsTpQ) the playlist for the fic itself! i'll stop myself now, but i hope you enjoy this fic ♡

There’s something precious, Jaemin thinks, about the end of a hard day. In a perfect world, he’d wrap up a cameo or an episode with a glass of cabernet, settle into the crease of his couch with a long book, and read until the moon lulled him into a sleep for however long he wanted.

This is not a perfect world, he decides as he pushes past reporters and paparazzi alike. And this isn’t a hard day, either. 

It’d be simple, Yuta had told him, and it was: attend the award show, clap when appropriate, chat up a few people, and leave. Of course, the _talking_ part wasn’t as enjoyable, but at least he got a few drinks out of it.

And now, as hands grab at his tuxedo and tired journalists call after him, Jaemin figures it might’ve been worth it to come, and maybe Yuta was right: maybe he should socialize more often. Even though there’s a stain on his dress pants, and his shoes are scuffed, and the evening air here is so stuffy he can barely breathe, it wasn’t really too bad.

He huffs and finally bursts through the crowd of people, hand outstretched to open the door to his car. Yuta’s inside, curled into the corner of the seat that stretches around the interior of the car. (“You’re famous, Minnie, you _need_ a limo,” Yuta had once said. Jaemin still disagrees.)

“Rough day?” Yuta asks. He pulls the door of the minifridge open and tosses Jaemin a water bottle. Jaemin catches it and nods his thanks, buckling his seatbelt and uncapping the bottle to drink it.

“Not bad,” Jaemin says. “If I have to talk to another actress trying to flirt with me, I’m going to come out.”

“Mm, whenever you want, I’m ready,” Yuta says, stretching his legs. He gestures with his hands through the partition, and the driver pulls out into the street. “Just waiting for you to get off your ass and find a boyfriend. That’d be good publicity, you know.”

“In your eyes, _any_ publicity is good publicity.”

“Because it is, if you’re not a creep. And you’re not, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Jaemin sips his water, eyebrows raised as he stares past Yuta at the cameras outside his car door. “Right.”

“You know, if you don’t want to get a boyfriend yourself, I could find one for you.” Yuta folds his arms. “I know people.”

“A little threatening, but sure,” Jaemin says, capping his water bottle and discarding it at his side. When the car stops, it rolls away and hits Yuta’s knee. He doesn’t bother retrieving it. “Do your worst.”

“You mean it?” When Jaemin nods back at him, Yuta beams and pulls out his phone. “Perfect. I already have a million ideas.”

The car comes to a slow stop in front of Jaemin’s apartment complex, and he unbuckles his seatbelt. “You comin’ in?”

“Nah, I’ve got a date tonight.” He grins, waving his phone in the air. Jaemin tries and fails to read the contact that Yuta has pulled up. “You will, too, pretty soon!”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’ve gotta go. I have—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Glass of wine, jacuzzi bubble bath, the works. Go relax, you deserve it.”

Jaemin smiles and pushes the car door open. “Thanks, Yuta. Text you later.”

The car door slams shut behind him, and the air is suddenly a lot more breathable. Jaemin takes the stairs to the top floor (because he knows he won’t get any exercise otherwise) and passes a few people in the hallway, giving them his most charming smile and politely declining to sign anything.

There’s no greater relief he feels than when his front door locks behind him. He’s free to do whatever, now that Yuta isn’t watching. If he really wanted to, he could eat the rest of the pan of brownies sitting on the counter. He could drink on the porch until the sun rose. He could even go to bed at nine in the evening in his tuxedo.

Jaemin doesn’t do any of that, because he figures he wants to keep what little dignity he has left. He draws a bath, pours himself some wine, and settles in with a copy of a book he’s been meaning to read since the beginning of the year.

His phone rings not even halfway through his first glass. Unfortunately, Jaemin doesn’t have the nerve to leave it ringing, so he picks up and mumbles out a hello, the rim of his wine glass still pressing into his lower lip.

“Found one,” Yuta says. Jaemin can hear the grin in his voice. “You’ve got a meeting tomorrow at ten. I’ll pick you up. Dress nice, you’re meeting your new boyfriend.”

“That fast?”

Yuta hums. “That fast. I’ll leave you alone now, though. Night.”

The call drops, but his phone beeps soon after, and he presses the notification from Yuta with an exasperated smile, hanging over the edge of his tub in a way that he’s sure will get water and soap everywhere. 

_‘His name is Lee Donghyuck,’_ the text reads. _‘I know you know him.’_

Mouth agape in horror, Jaemin drops his phone. He barely has enough wits about him to set his glass of wine down safely, but he has too little to retrieve his phone. Yuta will have to wait until he’s done absorbing shock.

Lee Donghyuck, he thinks. What a hell of a name.

* * *

The first time he’d met Lee Donghyuck, his band had played extras on an episode Jaemin had worked in. He brought them snacks and soda when they were getting their hair and makeup done, and Jaemin remembers even now that Lee Donghyuck — or Haechan, as he preferred — was fucking gorgeous.

The second time Jaemin had met him, they were sat at the same table during some indie awards show, Donghyuck stranded by the rest of his band and only confident enough to talk to Jaemin. They ended up drinking most of the night and laughing so hard that the memory of the pain in his belly is still vivid enough for Jaemin to feel it now. He’d honestly thought Donghyuck liked him, but at the end of the night, Donghyuck declined to give his number apologetically.

The media went wild that night, too. Jaemin remembers all the magazines and articles speculating their relationship, wondering how long they’d been together. He wonders if Donghyuck saw any, or if any of his members teased him with them.

His band had been underground back then. They’re growing fast, now, and it seems like Jaemin can’t look anywhere nowadays without seeing Deep Six’s logo printed onto a shirt or a tin button. Whenever he turns on the radio, he counts the number of songs it plays before one of their songs plays. And if it’s a hit, like ‘Gemini’ or ‘Life Itself,’ Jaemin treats himself to whatever he can find crammed into the depths of his fridge. 

Now, though, it’s his third time meeting Donghyuck, and he doesn’t look very happy to see Jaemin. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his jaw is set, and he doesn’t say a word the entire meeting, instead staying glued to his manager’s side and picking at the hangnails on his thumbs.

Jaemin shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does. 

“—So you can break up whenever you feel it’s time. This is solely for your benefit. If you don’t like fake dating and think that you’ve already gotten enough exposure from it, you can break up after two weeks, and no one but the public will give you any hell for it.”

The lawyer at Donghyuck’s manager’s side is trying her best to maintain eye contact with Jaemin, mostly because Donghyuck’s already heard this same spiel before. He’d said so himself, elbows propped onto the table and nostrils flaring the second Jaemin had sat down. Now he’s leaning back in his chair, his shoulders slack and his eyes dull as Jaemin shifts the weight of the pen in his hands.

“And I can back out anytime?” Jaemin echoes, eyebrows raised as he taps the pen on the table. “Either one of us can?”

Donghyuck’s lawyer nods. Her collar rustles with each incline of her head. “All you have to do is sign. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Right,” Jaemin says, unsure, his lip jutting out without his permission. He nods his head, clicks the pen, and signs his name.

Donghyuck takes the pen from him within a couple of seconds. His signature is subtle and delicate, contrasting the expression on his face and the music he sings so roughly. “There,” he says, his voice quiet. He doesn’t make eye contact at all, and Jaemin starts to think that this may be a difficult act to keep up. “S’done, right? We’re free to go?”

“Well, we can meet with you both to talk about dates and how to act with each other, but…” Donghyuck’s manager leans back in her chair. Jaemin notices that her eyes are tired, and whenever Donghyuck speaks, she seems to deflate. “Yeah, I guess you can go, Donghyuck. Don’t run off too far.”

Donghyuck stands hastily, pushing his chair in and running a hand through his hair. “See you around,” he says, nodding at Jaemin. He looks him in the eyes, then, and Jaemin sees that his eyes are sunken and tired. 

He nods back and lets him leave. Donghyuck doesn’t turn back.

The meeting dissipates quickly, and when Donghyuck’s team leaves the room, Yuta’s hand falls onto Jaemin’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’re okay with all this, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jaemin says. “All of it. Coming out. Coming out by fake dating a boy. Coming out by fake dating a boy who doesn’t seem to enjoy my company very much. It’s great.”

Yuta frowns. “Well, at least he doesn’t hate you. He wouldn’t have signed if he did. He’ll come around.”

Jaemin sighs. Settles into his chair. Stares at the pen discarded on the table, then reaches over to grab it and pocket it. “I hope so.”

* * *

Jaemin doesn’t set an alarm unless he has a schedule the next morning, because he likes to wake up to sunlight streaming through his window and annoying him into waking up. It’s a better alternative than coffee, which Yuta tells him he’s not allowed to drink because it might stain his teeth. 

He wakes to the sun burning behind his eyelids, his vision red beneath them and his face warm. He rolls over and blinks his eyes open, reaching an arm out blindly to feel around for his phone. When he finds it, he holds it close to his face and tries to make out what he can read through the sleep in his eyes.

It’s nearly twelve in the afternoon. He has seven missed calls, a text from an unknown number, and a text from Yuta.

Jaemin rubs his eyes, sits up, and reluctantly goes through his notifications. First, he checks Yuta’s text.

_‘I totally forgot to tell you that Haechan’s manager and I set up your first date. It’s today at noon. Sorry. I think he’s going to text you with details, so watch for that. And he’ll be going with you to that awards show next week, make sure neither of you forget. I put it in your calendar and texted his manager, but I know how you are.’_

Jaemin sighs and rolls out of bed, his phone still in his hand as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. He unfolds his glasses and settles them onto the bridge of his nose, pocketing his phone and rolling his neck. Something cracks.

He’s getting too old, he tells himself. He’d better ask Yuta if there’s anything to prevent that other than injections.

He's got another text from Donghyuck, and he opens it as he passes into his bathroom, a bad taste in his mouth that he's beginning to think isn't just morning breath.

_'So, date today. I'll pick you up at your apartment at like 11:50. That okay?'_

Jaemin texts back a hasty _'Yep!'_ and brushes his teeth. Already disgusted by his choice of words, he types out a second text and presses send. _'What exactly are we gonna do?'_

Jaemin rinses off his toothbrush. He hopes Donghyuck doesn't hate double-texters. Hell, he hopes Donghyuck doesn't hate _him_.

_'Thats a secret!!!!!!!!!!'_

Jaemin laughs, and the force of it splatters water across his mirror. He covers his mouth and tries to wipe the water off with his hand, then resigns himself to having to deal with a dirty mirror later. He sends back a smiley face emoji and pockets his phone again, dabbing at his face with a towel to dry the water that's dribbling down his chin.

His hair isn't _too_ messy, so he runs his fingers through it to straighten it a bit and then puts on as little makeup as he can. If the media wants flash-bleached shots of his eye rings, they can have them.

When he's finally ready, he pulls on whatever unwrinkled and relatively expensive-looking shirt he can find and some jeans. It looks enough like airport fashion that he won't trend for being lazy, but casual enough that he probably won't get mobbed.

It's twelve on the dot when he next checks his phone, and Donghyuck still isn't outside. Jaemin thanks whatever divine intervention is making Donghyuck late and not him.

Three knocks finally sound at his door a few minutes later, after Jaemin's already made himself comfortable waiting on the couch. He stands and rubs his eyes, careful not to irritate them as he crosses the room and opens the door. Donghyuck leans into the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face as he wrings his hands. "Sorry that I'm late."

Jaemin smiles. This isn't the Donghyuck that seemed like he'd hated him before at the meeting. This one smiles gently, apprehensively, like Jaemin might lash out at him for being late, which is an absurd thought; as much as the tabloids would like to paint him as a selfish asshole, Yuta tells him he's got the purest heart in Hollywood. He's not sure how much of that he believes, though.

He realizes Donghyuck is staring and shakes his head. "No big deal," he shrugs, gesturing for Donghyuck to step out of the way so they can leave. When he does, Jaemin shuts his front door, locks it, and leans against the wall. "So, where are you taking me?"

Donghyuck hums. "Figured you'd want a memorable first date even if we're not technically dating. Ice cream, then a date on the boardwalk."

"You know me too well."

"That time we got drunk at the awards show ended up telling me more than any of your interviews. You’re _really_ solitary, you know that?”

“I’m actually pretty social, I just don’t like most of the people that are famous. Or the ones I’ve talked to, at least.” Jaemin laughs at Donghyuck’s pout. “I like your crowd, though. Musicians tend to be funnier.”

Donghyuck nods. “And handsomer.”

“Way humbler, too,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck smiles for just a second, his hand fitting into Jaemin’s as they descend down the building’s stairs. When they reach the ground floor and step out into the bustling street, Donghyuck heaves a breath and rests his free hand on his heart.

“If I have to climb those stairs again, you’re carrying me. Christ.”

Jaemin hums, too occupied with the girl snapping pictures from across the street to think of a response. 

“C’mon,” Donghyuck says, pulling him towards a small black car. “Driver’s waiting.”

“Driver,” Jaemin repeats as Donghyuck opens the car door for him. He slides into the car and beckons Donghyuck inside. “Do all bands like you have chauffeurs?”

Donghyuck laughs and shuts the door. “I dunno, but I don’t have one to begin with. This is my idiot keyboardist, Yangyang.”

“I was forced into this,” says the boy in the driver’s seat, lifting a hand to greet Jaemin. 

“Yangyang, this is Jaemin,” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin waves, hoping that Yangyang can see the motion of his hand in the rear-view mirror.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Jaemin asks, tilting his head to get a better view of Yangyang’s face.

The car merges into traffic, and Yangyang relaxes in his seat. “Yeah. We played during a show you were in a year or two ago.”

“Aw, you _remember?”_ Donghyuck coos from the back seat. “Maybe you should date him instead of me.”

“Shut _up,”_ Yangyang grounds out. “I’ll wreck this car on purpose.”

“I _dare_ you,” Donghyuck says, crossing one leg over the other.

Jaemin glances out the window and tries to tell whether the people on the street brandishing their phone cameras can tell who’s in the car. “How dark are the windows tinted? Can they tell it’s us?”

“No,” Donghyuck says. “They’re tinted so that they can’t see who’s inside. Why, don’t you want them to see us?” His voice is… Teasing, maybe, or playful at the very least, and when Jaemin looks over, he’s got a grin a mile wide on his face, like he knows Jaemin won’t have anything to say that’ll show him up.

Jaemin flushes. “Uh.”

“I hope you’re this talkative when we’re out in public,” Donghyuck says, and from the front seat, Yangyang snickers. “Speaking of, you can pull over here, Yangie. We’re close enough to the boardwalk by now.”

Yangyang pulls into a crowded parking lot and idles the car as Donghyuck opens the car door and steps out into the open. He offers a hand to Jaemin as he slides across the seats, steadying him when he stands. 

“It was nice seeing you, Jaemin,” Yangyang calls from inside the car. Jaemin doesn’t even have time to return the farewell before Donghyuck shuts the car, and slowly, Yangyang drives away.

“There’s a little ice cream hut on the beach,” Donghyuck says. “Do you wanna go there first?”

Jaemin hums, leading Donghyuck towards the boardwalk. “I’ve never been here before,” he says, ignoring the camera that’s already following him. 

“Really? I used to come here all the time.” Donghyuck moves the hand that’s holding Jaemin’s, and their arms start to swing back and forth as they walk. “When I settled in the city, this was always where the band went for celebrations and stuff. It was nice here before we got big.”

"I'm guessing it's not as fun anymore."

Donghyuck flashes a lopsided grin and turns his attention back to the path in front of him. "Nah, it's still fun sometimes, but we never get the time to come here. The first time we got recognized by a fan was here, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Donghyuck's smile widens, and Jaemin can tell he's not all here right now, lost in his memories. Jaemin can't blame him — he does the same too often. "It was two girls. We took pictures with them, and one of them was wearing a button with our name on it, so we all initialed the tin." He pauses for a moment, looks at Jaemin. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"When did you first get recognized?"

Jaemin forces a smile and tries his hardest to come up with something believable. "I think when I was fifteen? Sixteen? I was out with my family and someone asked if I was from the show I cameoed in when I was younger. And then my mom got me a new agent, and I got more work, and it started happening way more after that. And now I'm here."

"Fifteen," Donghyuck says, eyes wide. "God, when I was fifteen, I was failing algebra, and you were out working."

It takes a lot not to bite back with something, but Jaemin holds his tongue between his teeth until he can think of a better response. "To be fair, I failed algebra, too."

"Oh, you had it all," Donghyuck says as they finally step out onto hot sand. If Jaemin concentrates enough, he can feel the sand wash up over the barrier of his sandals and burn anywhere it can reach. Donghyuck makes it a point to kick some sand towards Jaemin’s ankle as he turns and says, “The ice cream hut is right there.”

Jaemin follows the finger he’s pointing. His eyes stop at a cabana with people lined around it, brandishing drinks and ice cream cones and everything in between.

“Don’t they only sell ice cream?”

Donghyuck shakes his head as they near the hut. He strays from Jaemin and moves to order. “What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

When Donghyuck breaks from the crowd that’s steadily forming, he’s got two ice cream cones in hands. One is strawberry, and the one that gets handed to Jaemin is chocolate. “It’s safe,” Donghyuck explains, already trying to eat his ice cream, which is perched dangerously atop his cone, ready to fall each time Donghyuck attempts to eat it. “Everybody likes chocolate. Or tolerates it, at least.”

“What if I were allergic?”

“You’re not, though,” Donghyuck says, smiling as he leads Jaemin away from the hut and towards the beach. “You ordered chocolate ice cream at that awards show we went to.”

“You remember that?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “That’s the real reason why I ordered it,” he says. He slows his pace so that Jaemin walks ahead of him, and now he’s offset, blocking Jaemin’s view from whatever’s behind him. “Just turn around, it’s some girl trying to take pictures of you.”

“What if they’re of you?”

“I don’t mind. But you seem to, so…” Donghyuck gestures wildly with the hand holding his ice cream. It begins to fall off its cone, and he tries to bat it back into place, instead sending it flying towards the sand. It lands miserably on top of an abandoned sandcastle, and Donghyuck claps a hand over his mouth in disbelief. 

“Not your finest moment,” Jaemin says, trying to hold back laughter.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Donghyuck says. His voice is muffled through his hand as he stares at the empty cone he’s holding. 

“Want me to go get you another one?”

Donghyuck shakes his head adamantly. “Oh, God, no. That’s so embarrassing.” Slowly, he takes a bite of the ice cream cone in his hand.

“I don’t think anyone cares,” Jaemin grins. “Throw that away. You can have mine.”

“Really?” Donghyuck glances at the ice cream in Jaemin’s hand with some uncertainty, like he’s weighing the choice in his mind when it shouldn’t be a choice at all. Jaemin offers him the cone.

“For the cameras,” Jaemin adds just to sway his mind. It works, because soon he’s taking the ice cream cone in his left hand and Jaemin’s hand in his right. 

Donghyuck glances back at the girl — or _girls,_ because a crowd has formed but keeps a respectful distance that’s still just as menacing — taking pictures for just a moment. He squeezes Jaemin’s hand, and if Jaemin thinks that if he really focused hard, he could feel the pulse in the guard of Donghyuck’s palm.

The sun is warm. His hand is warmer.

* * *

Donghyuck’s propped up on the chaise in Jaemin’s living room, one leg crossed over the other and his head tilted back as he stares at the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. “That was a pretty nice publicity stunt,” he says thoughtfully, and Jaemin tilts his head.

“What, looking nice for the cameras?”

“No, you bringing me back to your apartment. On the _first date.”_ He puts the words in air quotes, and Jaemin laughs. Donghyuck stands then, making his way to Jaemin’s bookshelf and inspecting everything he has there. “I didn’t take you for a reader,” Donghyuck says, tilting his head and running a finger along the spines of the books, dragging one out with his fingertip whenever he’s interested. “Palahniuk?”

“I liked _Fight Club,”_ Jaemin says, pursing his lips and offering a shrug as Donghyuck inspects the shelf.

“And Siken?”

“...I’m closeted, so.” 

Donghyuck stifles a snort and falls back onto the chaise, suddenly mesmerized by the flame kindling in the fireplace. “D’you think we should, uh… Like, practice the whole dating thing?”

“Practice?”

“Like.” Donghyuck glances at him, but looks away quickly enough that Jaemin can tell he’s afraid of what he’s saying. “Stuff that we’re expected to do if we wanna pull this off.”

“Like holding hands?”

“And kissing,” Donghyuck says. He’s staring at the floor, now, and Jaemin grins, moving couches to sit next to him. Donghyuck looks up. “I haven’t, uh, done that in a long time.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this is my first kiss that isn’t scripted.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really. So you’ve got nothing on me.”

Donghyuck laughs. There’s fire flickering his eyes, and slowly, he brings his hand up to Jaemin’s jaw. Briefly, Jaemin thinks he should’ve tried to shave this morning, but he doesn’t have time to express it before Donghyuck’s drawing him closer. He closes his eyes and lets the ebb and flow of Donghyuck’s breath come nearer.

His lips are soft and cool, and Jaemin relaxes into the kiss for just a moment before the version of himself that’s grown used to being a romance lead — the version of himself that can’t take its mind off anything other than acting — tries to interfere. He tilts his head (or tries to, at least), but Donghyuck stops him, steadying him with the hand resting on his jaw. 

He pulls away. Donghyuck’s eyes have softened, and he licks his lips. “Um.”

Jaemin laughs and kisses him again just for the extra practice. Donghyuck’s lips are warmer, now, but not as warm as the hand cupping his face. He wonders why Donghyuck is always so warm.

 _‘Full sun,’_ he remembers the sticker on Donghyuck’s guitar reading in every live performance. It makes enough sense to shut him up and make him kiss back.

“I’m not having nearly as much fun as you said I would,” Donghyuck says, spread across the back seat of the limo in the exact stance Yuta’s taken a liking to. They’re similar, Jaemin realizes, but he can’t quite figure out what makes them so different.

“That’s because we haven’t even gotten to the show yet, genius,” Jaemin says. He takes a sip of the water in his hand and tries to glance out the window. The view holds nothing but window displays and spinning doors. “God, I’m sick of this place.”

“The city?” Donghyuck tilts his head and leans back. “I like it.”

“It’s called a concrete jungle for a reason,” Jaemin says, pursing his lips. “I can’t stand it.”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Your loss. I think it’s pretty.”

The limousine rolls to a stop. The partition rolls aside, and from the driver’s seat comes a loud, “You’re here.”

Jaemin climbs to the door and opens it, Donghyuck not far behind him. “Thanks, Ten,” he calls to the driver’s seat, but Ten has already rolled the partition back. Grinning, Jaemin pushes the door open and steps out. The crowd in front of him makes way, and camera flashes immediately begin to blind him as he takes in the building in front of him.

There’s the usual chatter, the hushed voice of his name, the calls for him to focus on certain cameras, to smile, but as Jaemin turns and takes Donghyuck by the hand, leading him out of the limousine and helping him to his feet, the voices around him turn frantic.

“Haechan!” someone shouts. “Haechan, are you in a relationship with Jaemin Na?”

To his credit, Donghyuck keeps quiet, but walks with his body pressed to Jaemin’s side. He flashes a smile in the direction of the question, though, to leave them curious. 

Donghyuck nudges Jaemin’s side as they approach the end of the sea of paparazzi. “Smile for the cameras, pretty boy,” he says, and Jaemin blushes so hard he can’t think of a response. He’s almost positive his reaction is about to go viral for maybe thirty minutes before he’s overtaken by the awards show itself.

The table they’re seated at is crowded with people who Jaemin doesn’t recognize, and he tries — and fails — in making small talk. He doesn’t accept an award; he’s there in support of a younger actor under Yuta’s name. His name is Chenle, and he accepts the first award of the night for his role as Park Jisung’s best friend turned fake lover. 

Donghyuck’s phone buzzes in five minute intervals in rapid succession, but he doesn’t pay the buzzing any mind. He sips the champagne in his glass — which is a feat all of his own, because he usually flat out refuses to drink champagne or any kind of alcohol — and applauds whoever’s accepting the next award. Finally, though, he breaks, snatching his phone from the table and bringing it to his ear so quickly that Jaemin barely has time to read the name _‘Junnie’_ on the screen. “What,” he says lowly, careful to try to shield his voice with his sleeve. “What? No, I’m at an awards show with Jaemin.”

Donghyuck’s face scrunches up even though the person on the other line can’t see him. _“No,_ we’re not winning anything, that’s not the _point—”_

He waits. Listens for a few seconds, just long enough for Jaemin to get uncomfortable staring at him. “No. This is important, Jun.”

His next response is faster. “I said no.” But the person on the other line says something loudly enough that Jaemin can hear it muffled through Donghyuck’s speaker, and Donghyuck’s facade falls. “...Alright. Run soundcheck without me.”

He ends the call and sets his phone face-down on the table. 

“You’re leaving?” Jaemin asks, his head cocked to the side as he sips his water. 

“There’s—” Donghyuck waves his hands to try to make Jaemin understand, but doesn’t seem to get that Jaemin can’t read his mind. He’s hiding something, Jaemin’s sure of it, but it’s not his place to pry. “There’s kind of an emergency, and I’ve gotta go play a show downtown. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jaemin says, standing. “There’s no coverage right now, anyways. And I know the easiest way to sneak out of here unnoticed.”

Donghyuck purses his lips. “I don’t want you to miss this. It seems important.”

“It’s not.” Jaemin stands, folding the napkin on his lap and dropping it onto the table. “Wasn’t even an obligation. The person I’m here for already accepted his award, Hyuck, it’s fine.”

“Hyuck,” Donghyuck echoes. “That’s new.”

“Sorry, it slipped out.”

“No,” Donghyuck says, rising from his chair and pulling the coat draped over the back of it onto his shoulders. “No, I like it, actually. I haven’t had anybody call me that in a long time.”

Jaemin smiles. “You ready?” And, receiving the nod and grin Donghyuck sends his way, he takes his hand and leads him to the wall of the room, where they won’t be noticed. They empty out into a hall filled with people, still walking along the wall with their heads held down. Jaemin leads them into a dimly-lit corridor that twists and turns for what seems like ages before they finally come to a metal door adorned with an exit sign.

“How’d you know how to get out?” Donghyuck asks as they push past the door and empty into a back alley behind the building. 

“I used to work here when I was younger,” Jaemin says. “My mom thought I needed a job in case my acting career went south, so she managed to get the owner to hire me to clean.”

“You were a maid,” Donghyuck says flatly as they make their way to the sidewalk. He overtakes Jaemin, walking ahead and leading him. 

“How far away are you going?”

“Not far,” Donghyuck says, reaching behind him with an open hand that Jaemin takes gratefully. Somehow, his hand is warm in the cool of the evening, but Jaemin has quickly learned not to question Donghyuck about things like this. He silently enjoys the heat pressing at his palm and lets Donghyuck lead him along until they come to a small venue that Jaemin has visited a few times before but can’t remember the name of.

“Ah-ah,” Donghyuck sings, pulling Jaemin back when he tries to walk into the venue. “Not from the front door. Artists go around the back.”

And so Donghyuck leads him again, taking him around the building and into a remote side-entrance that opens into a long, dark hallway. There are lights along a turn of the stretch, and Donghyuck leads him towards it, eventually bringing him in front of a door with a plaque on it. It’s too dark for Jaemin to make out what’s written on it, but he guesses it’s something to the effect of _‘Artists Only.’_

Donghyuck pushes in on the door, and Jaemin finds a more familiar scene inside: a dressing room bustling with people. 

“No change of clothes, Donghyuck?” someone calls out from the front of the room. He’s in a chair getting his makeup done. “Shame.”

“You’re lucky I’m here,” Donghyuck says, pouting. “Jaemin, you can sit next to me while I get my makeup done if you want.”

“Absolutely _not,”_ someone says. “I want to know why your boy toy is here and why he’s trending on Twitter. He can sit next to me.”

Jaemin blinks. “Trending on—?” 

_“Anyways,”_ Donghyuck says, cutting in, “I should introduce you to my least favorite people.”

“You love us,” one says from the side of the room, where a woman is adjusting his hair and swatting at his hands each time he tries to fix it himself. 

“That’s Jeno,” Donghyuck says with distaste. “Our drummer.”

“I hit things,” Jeno says brightly. 

“I’m Renjun,” a boy says, kicking off the wall. “I’m the bassist.”

“And the bane of my existence,” Donghyuck says, earning a smack on the shoulder from Renjun. He points to Yangyang. “You’ve already met Yangyang, our keyboardist. And you know me, but I’m special, so I’ll tell you again—”

“Oh, you’re special, Donghyuck,” Renjun says, covering Donghyuck’s mouth with a hand. “This is our piece of shit lead singer. He’s from the middle of nowhere and won’t tell you anything about himself if you don’t ask first.”

“He won’t tell you anything, period,” Yangyang says, kicking one leg over the other just as Donghyuck breaks free from Renjun’s hand and clamps his teeth down onto the guard of his palm. Renjun yelps in pain and smacks him upside the head.

“Be a shame if our frontman had two missing teeth on center stage,” Renjun says, crossing his arms.

“Or if our beloved bassist had two missing fingers for his solo,” Donghyuck fires back. He drops into the chair a makeup artist is beckoning him towards and lets her begin to prime his face. Meanwhile, Yangyang pulls Jaemin into a seat next to him and strikes up an animated conversation about any celebrity gossip he can coax out of Jaemin.

“If I had anything else to tell you, I would,” Jaemin says, raising his hands defensively and trying not to meet the eyes boring into him from the opposite corner. Jeno hasn’t stopped staring at Jaemin since he sat down, and Jaemin’s sure that he’s vegetative by now.

“Ready?” Donghyuck asks suddenly, and Yangyang rises from his chair along with the rest of the band. When Jaemin turns his eyes to the center of the room, he notices that Donghyuck has changed without him even noticing. He’s dressed more like what Jaemin expects from him: tight jeans, chains threading through his belt loops, and a ratty muscle top embellished with a faded Prince print. The chains are hanging at his hip as he fiddles with them, biting his lip. Renjun pulls his fingers away from them.

Jaemin has to take a moment to keep from staring too long. He’s never seen Donghyuck dressed in all black before. Come to think of it, he’s never seen Donghyuck dressed any way but casually, and the eye makeup curling around his eyelid is so unreal to Jaemin that he’s having trouble focusing.

“Jaemin, you’re coming with us,” Donghyuck says. “Not onstage, but close to it. I have a spot where you can sit and watch.”

Yangyang grabs his wrist and drags him towards the door that the rest of the band is already beginning to disappear through. “Wait,” Jaemin says, trying in vain to shrug off his suit jacket. “Wait, let me—”

“Take his jacket back to the dressing room,” Yangyang says to a tech passing by. He helps Jaemin pull off the jacket and hands it to the woman gratefully, giving her his thanks as they hurry down the hallway. 

“My tie,” Jaemin groans, his hand reaching up to undo the tie around his neck as they walk. He settles for letting it hang around his neck limply, unsure of what to do with it beyond that point. 

“You ready?” Yangyang asks, looking back with a light in his eyes that Jaemin can see even in the dark hall. 

The lights up ahead go dim, then turn off. The crowd in the venue _screams._

“It’s dark, but I’m gonna take you to your spot where you can watch us, so you won’t trip. Okay?” someone says, grabbing Jaemin’s wrist. It’s not Yangyang.

“Okay, Jaemin?” the person repeats. “It’s me, Renjun.”

“Yeah. Didn’t realize it was you, sorry.”

“S’okay,” Renjun says, then tugs him to the side of the hall while the rest of the band walks straight ahead. Though it’s dark, Jaemin can make out the outline of the stage he’s now on, and a few phone lights being shined from the back of the crowd help him to vaguely see where he’s stepping. “Right here. Watch your step.” Renjun tightens his hold on Jaemin’s wrist as they descend down a small set of stairs. “There. Don’t interact with the crowd, they’re insane. If you need something, flag down one of the techs.”

Jaemin nods and swallows thickly before he realizes that Renjun can’t see him well. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s gone in an instant, joining the blurred outlines in the center of the stage.

A light shines dimly on the drum set. A cymbal hisses, and a bass begins scaling, and suddenly, Yangyang’s keyboard is humming something softly in the dark. 

Donghyuck strikes a chord. The crowd goes _wild._ The lights turn on and fall on him, and suddenly everything is rich violet, and he has _never_ looked this handsome. 

“You know,” Donghyuck says lowly into the microphone. “You guys took me away from something important to be here.”

A girl at the barrier screams something unintelligible at Donghyuck, who reaches out and leans down over the stage to brush her hand with his own. 

“But you know what?” Donghyuck says, playing something absentmindedly on his guitar. 

He strums it. 

“I don’t regret it.” Donghyuck watches as the crowd calls for him to come down off the stage and laughs. The microphone picks up the quiet huff of his breath. “Everyone, thanks for coming out. We’re Deep Six!”

Jeno’s drums lead into the beginning of a song, followed by the bass, then the keyboard, and finally, Donghyuck is strumming his guitar lazily like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. Jaemin recognizes it as something that’s played on the radio a hundred times before but something he can’t remember the name of no matter how hard he tries. All he knows is that Donghyuck sounds good singing it. 

When they finish the first song, Donghyuck has already begun to wipe his forehead intermittently with the back of his hand. Someone tosses him a water bottle, and he catches it gratefully, cracking the lid open and drinking like the water is his lifeline. It spills onto his face and shirt, and he throws his middle finger up at the crowd when the girls in front catcall him. “You know,” Donghyuck says, panting, “it’s not quite the season yet, but I think there’s a song I wanna do.”

He plays an opening on his guitar, and suddenly, the girls by the barricade are screaming so loud that Jaemin can’t even hear the guitar anymore. Donghyuck smiles and presses his mouth close to the microphone to be heard. “Sing along if you know it,” he says, and the opening chords of ‘Gemini’ ring in Jaemin’s ears. 

From the side of the stage, he sings along. How could he not? Donghyuck is casting little glances aside just for him, to make sure he’s paying attention. Jaemin would hate to let him down. 

‘Gemini’ ends. They segue into a few more songs familiar to Jaemin before they hit an interlude, and Renjun and Jeno leave their instruments and disappear off the stage. They come back with tote bags filled to the brim with what Jaemin guesses is merch, and soon, they’re tossing goodies into the pit as Yangyang’s keyboard hums our something. Donghyuck is saying something, but Jaemin can’t understand him over the cries for Renjun to visit a certain side of the stage. 

When they’ve run out of things to throw, Donghyuck stops talking, and Renjun and Jeno return to their places. Yangyang is still pressing gentle chords on his keyboard, but they turn minor, and they sound harsher now. Donghyuck strums his guitar again. 

“I brought somebody special tonight,” Donghyuck says. “Somebody special to me.”

Jaemin looks up. Donghyuck’s eyes stay straight ahead. 

“I’d like you all to meet him,” Donghyuck says, and the crowd goes wild at the indication of Jaemin’s gender. “Jaemin Na, everybody,” he says, beckoning Jaemin towards the center stage, and Jaemin rises, taking slow, deliberate steps towards Donghyuck. The crowd drowns out the sound of his pounding heart. 

“Prettiest boy I ever did see,” Donghyuck says into the microphone, and when Jaemin finally gets close enough, Donghyuck gently takes the ends of his tie hanging around his neck, pulls him closer, and kisses him. 

Behind Jaemin’s eyelids, the lights are pink, then purple, then blue, and when Donghyuck pulls away, his pupils are blown wide. There’s a ringing in Jaemin’s ears. “Jaemin Na, guys,” Donghyuck repeats into the microphone. He sounds dazed. “Prettiest boy I’ve ever kissed, too.”

The crowd is so loud that Jaemin can barely understand the _‘go’_ that leaves Donghyuck’s lips. When he looks behind him, the rest of the band is smiling. Jeno is, too, but his eyes are cold, and they follow Jaemin like he’s afraid of what he’ll do next. 

The air is thick when Jaemin sits on the stairs again. He clears his throat and focuses on the band again, trying to ignore the screams of the crowd at his side.

When the show is over, the stage goes dark, and someone tugs on the back of Jaemin’s collar, pulling him up and back onto the stage. “It’s me,” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin breathes a sigh. “How’d you like it?”

“It was…” Jaemin’s mouth is dry, and he can’t seem to find the right words. “It was incredible. Thank you for letting me come.”

“Thank you for being my publicity stunt,” Donghyuck says. He fits his hand into Jaemin’s like it’s regular for them now, and Jaemin supposes it really is. Something crashes loudly from behind them. Donghyuck turns his head to shout at the band trailing them. “Don’t mess up the venue, or you’re paying for it!”

“You say that like Renjun can even break anything,” Yangyang says. “Right, Jeno?”

Upon getting no response, Renjun echoes him: “Jeno? You good?”

Someone hums behind Jaemin. He jumps a little, but hopes it isn’t as noticeable in the dark.

“Babe,” Yangyang says. 

“M’fine,” Jeno says. “Just thinking.”

“You do that too much,” Renjun says quietly, and Jaemin starts to feel like this is a conversation on which he’s intruding. 

“You’re too domestic, all three of you,” Donghyuck says, groaning a little and quickening his pace with Jaemin so that they walk ahead of the rest. “You’d better not be like this when we go on tour.”

“Who said _anything_ about going on tour?”

“Me. Just now. I did.” Donghyuck coughs into his sleeve before continuing, “I’ve been on Joohyun’s ass about a tour since we blew up.”

“Bullshit,” Yangyang says. “Joohyun doesn’t even let you talk to her. You both find a way to fight if you get within, like, thirty feet of each other.”

“I am a _delight,”_ Donghyuck whines. “Jaemin, tell them how delightful I am!”

“He’s definitely something _,”_ Jaemin says, earning himself a smack on the arm from Donghyuck. “He’s also gonna take me home, because my driver isn’t out past ten.”

“Some driver,” Donghyuck snorts. “Anyways, you’re going with me.”

Jaemin gapes. Behind him, Yangyang and Renjun whistle. Donghyuck flips them off. “C’mon,” Donghyuck says, squeezing his hand. “My place isn’t far.”

* * *

Donghyuck’s apartment is just about everything Jaemin expects from him. 

The first thing Jaemin notices is the mess. There are empty dishes left out on the counter, but they’re cute ceramic dishes that match the palette of the apartment, so Jaemin can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. There’s a shirt hanging over the open washing machine door advertising a blood donation campaign, and there are at _least_ fifty different guitar picks strewn around the living room. The tidiest thing Jaemin can find is the display of guitars hanging from rubber holders on the wall. One is missing from its peg, and Jaemin figures it’s the one he was playing tonight at the show. He wonders if Donghyuck always plays his own guitars live.

The bookshelf in the corner is stuffed full of video game cases and books alike. Jaemin hasn’t played a video game since he was fourteen and waiting on his very first audition with a Nintendo in his hands, but he admires Donghyuck’s dedication to whatever console is tucked beneath his TV stand. His taste in books isn’t bad, either. All of the books look old, their spines cracked and frayed, and when Jaemin hooks the edge of one with his finger and pulls it out a bit, he realizes the pages have been turned so much that the book has bent out of shape. He wonders what notes have annotated these books. He wonders if Donghyuck would let him read them.

“Well?” Donghyuck says, locking the door behind him. “What do you think?”

“It’s very you,” Jaemin says, glancing at the closed door to the bedroom. Hanging from it is a Hello Kitty sign on the door that Jaemin can’t understand because it’s in Mandarin. “Very you,” he repeats.

“The sign is a present from Renjun,” Donghyuck says. “He got it for me when he went to visit his grandma. Not sure what it says.”

Jaemin nods and returns to the bookcase. There are authors here that he doesn’t even recognize. Some of the titles look like they belong to self-help books, and Jaemin notes that those are the few books that look like they haven’t been touched since the day they were printed.

“Sorry about the mess,” Donghyuck says, hurriedly shoving the stray dishes into the sink. There’s Jaemin’s answer, then. “Usually it’s cleaner here, but I let Yangyang stay the night at mine while Jeno and Renjun were arguing, and he got really messy, and…” he trails off. When Jaemin looks over, Donghyuck’s face is pink. “I’m rambling.”

“You’re really out of your element when I’m not talking, aren’t you?” Jaemin asks, his face bright with a smile. 

“I’m not really used to having my apartment inspected like this,” Donghyuck says.

“What did you expect would happen when you invited me over?” Jaemin laughs a little. “You did the same when you came over to mine. I’ve gotta return the favor.”

“Yeah, but don’t be _mean.”_

“I haven’t even said anything!” Jaemin runs his finger along the spines of the books on one of the shelves. He lets his arm drop to his side once his hand reaches the cold plastic video game cases, unsure of whether he’s allowed to touch them or not.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Donghyuck groans. 

“Well,” Jaemin drawls, glancing again at the display of guitars on the wall. “You could play me something on that bass?”

“Not the guitar?” Donghyuck tilts his head, but walks to the wall and grabs the bass nonetheless. He takes a seat on the couch, patting the cushion beside him for Jaemin to sit on. He does. “Hand me that cord and flip the switch on the amp.”

“This one?” Jaemin grabs a cable from the ground and hands it to Donghyuck, pressing a switch on the amp beside the couch. It hums lowly while he finds a place to plug the cord in. When he does, a loud cracking noise echoes from the amp and causes Jaemin to flinch. Donghyuck laughs. 

“It does that if you don’t plug in the cord before you turn on the amp,” he says, thumbing along the top string of the bass. The floor seems to hum beneath Jaemin’s feet. At the twist of a dial, the sound dampens, lowers. It’s quiet enough now that it won’t disturb anyone.

Donghyuck plays a bassline and glances at Jaemin out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not as good as Renjun,” he says. 

“I didn’t expect you to be,” Jaemin says. “If you were, you’d be the bassist.”

“That’s not true.” Donghyuck absentmindedly lets himself play scales on the bass as he leans back into the cushion of the couch. “Renjun is a better singer than I am, but he insists on being our backup vocal. He just doesn’t like to be in the spotlight, I guess.”

Jaemin hums. He looks over at the neck of the bass, where Donghyuck’s fingers are resting idly, muting the strings. “Would you teach me if I asked?”

Donghyuck shifts his knee and moves the bass up to his thigh before lifting it and settling it onto Jaemin’s leg. He takes Jaemin’s hand and pushes it up onto the neck. Instinctively, his fingers curl around it. “I think I was planning to teach you, regardless,” Donghyuck says, leaning over to take Jaemin’s other hand. “Rest this right here. No, here. Good. Now pluck a string.”

The low sound that reverberates comes from the bass itself, not the amp, and it curls into Jaemin’s stomach and rises. He smiles at the sensation humming in his chest.

“See that dot on the third fret? Press that on the second string. Then—” Donghyuck reaches over and presses Jaemin’s middle finger onto the fret. “Here. Slide down to this.”

“You’re teaching me your own song,” Jaemin realizes, recognizing the notes as Donghyuck plays them for him. 

“You caught me,” Donghyuck says, flashing him a grin. “Now, do you wanna learn or not?” 

Jaemin laughs. His fingers curl around the neck of the bass and play the progression again. His fingers move without him having to think about anything, and he finds the notes he’s looking for in time. “Is that how the song goes?”

“Close enough,” Donghyuck says, grabbing an acoustic guitar from its peg on the wall and strumming it. “Think you can duet?”

“Is that a challenge?” Jaemin asks, thumbing along a string he’s muted. “Go ahead.”

The song is familiar, but Jaemin can’t remember the lyrics, though he knows enough to hum the melody. It’s quiet but harsh, one of Deep Six’s ballads that took off before they ever really did. “What’s this called again?”

“‘Wendigo,’” Donghyuck says. His voice is quieter now, and there’s something in it that Jaemin can’t place. “It was one of the first songs I ever wrote.”

“What’s it about?”

Donghyuck presses his lips together in what starts as a grimace but turns into a wry smile. “Nothing you should worry about. Let’s try a different song, yeah?”

Jaemin nods and doesn’t press the subject again. He’s kept quiet by Donghyuck’s hands on his, the thrum of the bass in his bones, the weight on his tongue, and he lets Donghyuck play him songs well into the night before they fall asleep on the couch, pressed into each other by their instruments and kept still by their locked arms.

* * *

Their next date isn’t nearly as laid-back. Donghyuck swats him on the arm when he sees what Yuta has arranged for them, and Jaemin tries to tell him that he had nothing to do with planning this and that _honestly, he’s just as surprised as Donghyuck,_ but it’s no use.

The sun is low when they walk into the restaurant. It’s one that Jaemin has heard about constantly in his time in Hollywood, but he’s never visited. It’s too fancy for his liking, but he’s here now, so he takes it in stride, taking Donghyuck’s hand in his as they enter the restaurant and are immediately greeted by a host.

“Ah, Mr. Na?” the girl asks, smiling kindly.

“I have a reservation,” Jaemin says, glancing around the restaurant before finally letting his eyes land on the tablet in the girl’s hands. “I believe it’s under Nakamoto?”

“Yes, sir, right this way,” she says. “You’re the only table in the entire restaurant.”

Jaemin glances back at Donghyuck, whose eyes are as wide as saucers. “Your manager… Reserved… The _entire restaurant?”_

“Guess so,” Jaemin breathes, looking around as they’re lead to a table in the corner of the restaurant. Their table is dimly lit with a candle and covered in a white tablecloth that Jaemin doesn’t think he can afford to spill anything on. 

“Tell Yuta he’s insane,” Donghyuck murmurs in his ears just before they part ways to sit down. He takes his menu from the server gratefully and orders a water to drink.

“Any alcohol to start?”

Donghyuck peeks up at Jaemin from over the menu he’s holding. “Nothing for me, I don’t drink.”

Jaemin pauses. He’d like a wine, but he’s decent enough that he’ll wait to get home to drink any. “Just water is fine.”

“Alright, I’ll have those out in a minute,” the girl says, and as quickly as she’d led them to their table, she disappears into what Jaemin assumes is the kitchen. 

The dim light of the candle is reflected in Donghyuck’s eyes, and the flame dances in them. He looks around, makes a joke. Jaemin tries not to laugh. They settle into comfortable silence soon after, and they wait until their drinks are brought out until they speak again to order.

There’s a basket of bread on the table now, and Jaemin breaks off a piece to eat and dips it in the olive oil in the basket. Donghyuck snickers a little as he swallows a bite of the bread and taps the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Jaemin asks, tilting his head. 

“You’ve got… Oil. Right there.”

Jaemin rubs the side of his mouth with the cloth napkin from his lap. “Did I get it?”

“No, you—” Donghyuck grins, standing and leaning over the table to swipe over Jaemin’s lipline with his thumb. When he finds he’s not satisfied with his work, he takes the napkin Jaemin had been using and dabs the corner of Jaemin’s mouth until he’s content. Then he drops the napkin back onto the table and reclines in his seat, leaving a very red Jaemin sitting across from him.

“I could’ve gotten it,” Jaemin manages, and Donghyuck laughs.

“Aw, are you embarrassed?”

Jaemin shakes his head vehemently and takes a sip of his water, then sets it back on the table and crosses his arms. 

Two can play at this game.

There are several more mishaps over the course of the date and leading up to their entrees being served. But once the main courses are delivered, Jaemin stops talking and starts eating, realizing just how hungry he is. “Is yours good?” he asks through a mouthful of food.

Donghyuck beams. “It’s great,” he says. “Better than what the band manages to cook, anyways. And if they’re not cooking, we eat takeout.”

“You never eat in?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Restaurants make Yangyang antsy. And he’s like a human time bomb, so it’s best not to put him in places that make him nervous.”

Jaemin hums and takes another bite. “Yours is good?” Donghyuck asks then and is only met with another loud hum. Whatever he’s ordered — and he really doesn’t know, because the entire menu was in a language he can’t even remember the name of — is _delicious._ Suddenly, he’s not as embarrassed that Yuta has sent him here on a date. 

“So, question,” Jaemin says, swallowing a bite and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “You already know so much about me, but why don’t I know anything about you?”

Donghyuck’s eyes grow wide for a moment. His gaze falls to the meal on his plate, and he doesn’t look up, even when he’s finished taking another bite of his food. He seems to be mulling over an answer, indecisive even as Jaemin waits impatiently on the other side of the table. “There’s not much to know,” he settles on finally. “I grew up in a crappy little town in the middle of nowhere. My parents owned a consignment store. I started playing guitar when I was nine. That’s about it.”

“What brought you to California?”

“It was the closest state when I needed to move,” Donghyuck says, and something tells Jaemin that this isn’t the time to be pressing for details, but he can’t help himself, not when this is the most Donghyuck has told him about himself so far. 

“Why’d you move?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” Donghyuck finally looks up at him for a split second, grinning wryly before he stares back down at his plate again. “My parents kicked me out when I was eighteen.”

Jaemin can’t stop his own hand from rising to his mouth and covering it. “Oh, my god,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

“It’s alright, I think you should know the story.” Donghyuck leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his water, laughing at the way Jaemin’s hand still hasn’t fallen from his mouth. “I fell in love with a boy fresh out of junior year, and it was mutual. This was a small town, mind, and we were all religious. But we didn’t care about what anyone else thought, and we started dating in the summer. We were too stupid to realize we were gonna get caught with how obvious we were.”

Jaemin takes a long sip of his water and wishes he really had ordered wine instead. He thinks he’d like to hear a different story about Donghyuck now.

“I went out of town for a weekend to get school things for my senior year, since I didn’t have anywhere in town where I could buy those kinds of things. When I came back, the entire town knew. I started the first day of school, and none of my friends talked to me. My teachers ignored me in class. My boyfriend wasn’t at school, and my texts to him didn’t go through. I went to his house, and his parents told me that he’d told them I coerced him into a relationship with me. It wasn’t true, obviously, and he snuck out and found me and told me that he had to save himself or else he’d lose his only way to get out of town. Even then, he tried to tell his parents that despite being… Forced into a relationship with me, he cared about me. But it backfired. They made him break up with me publicly. Nailed a fucking breakup letter to my front door.”

 _“Holy shit,”_ Jaemin breathes.

“My parents kicked me out. I took my guitar and the clothes on my back and hitchhiked to LA because I knew it was basically my only chance to get back on my feet. The homeless groups wouldn’t let me stay with them because I looked like I would cause trouble, so I slept in, like, alleyways for a while. I ate off spare change from busking and fast food rewards receipts. And one day, I was busking, and some kid in a backwards hat and a fucking Thrasher shirt told me that he’d take me off the streets if I agreed to be in his band, because they needed a guitarist. And then he heard me sing, and he said he’d let me live with him and feed me if I agreed to be on guitar and lead vocals.”

“Was it…?” 

“I’ve been playing with them ever since,” Donghyuck says. “He’s a jackass, but Renjun’s always been good to me. I love him a lot.”

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Jaemin says, and he can’t tell if the candle is doing its job and playing tricks on him or if Donghyuck’s eyes soften at his words. He’ll take the latter, if he can help it.

Donghyuck folds his napkin neatly and sets it on the table, smiling a little but averting his eyes even still. “Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

The phone is ringing, and at this hour, Jaemin would kill to shut it up. 

He groans, rolling over in bed and letting his hand feel around blindly for his phone on his nightstand. When he finds it, he answers the call and presses the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he asks, voice weak and groggy from sleep.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yuta,” he greets, squeezing his eyes shut to get rid of the glowing afterimage of his phone screen on the backs of his eyelids. “Of _course_ you woke me up. Why would I be awake at—” he checks the time on his phone, but Yuta beats him to it.

“Three in the morning.”

“At _three in the morning?”_

“Well, I thought you might be spending time with your boyfriend. You’ve been seen together a lot lately. People are starting to really root for you, especially after that kiss onstage.”

“I’m not with him every second, and I’m definitely not ever with him at three in the morning,” Jaemin grumbles. 

Yuta hums. “Well, sorry for calling this late. That’s on me. But I wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“Haechan,” Yuta says, and by the tone of his voice, the subject is obvious. Jaemin couldn’t possibly have less of a clue.

“What about him?”

“I know you’re the… You’re a certain kind of person.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t really like too many people, but when you do, you _like_ people. And I thought that this would be the perfect fake relationship because you two seem like polar opposites and because Haechan didn’t really like you in the beginning, but I think I’m wrong.” Yuta swallows on the other end of the line. Jaemin does the same.

“We’re just fine,” Jaemin says. “We get along great. He’s fun to date.”

“A little too fun,” Yuta says. “Look, I said I know the kind of person you are, right? And so I know the kind of person he is, too. I’ve managed the kind of people he’s with. It’s not pretty. And I wanted to tell you I’ve heard things about his crowd, and I don’t know if they’re true or not, but my word is usually good word. Be careful.”

“I’m not—” Jaemin sputters. “Yuta, he’s not fucking… He’s great, alright? He’s golden.”

“You say that, but I’ve seen how kids like him end up. You haven’t. If I’d known you two would get as close as you are, I never would have set you up.”

 _‘We’re not even close,’_ Jaemin wants to argue. _‘If this is your definition of close, then how will we be when this relationship ends?’_

Instead, what comes out is, “Goodnight, Yuta.”

“He has problems, Min,” Yuta says slowly. “I’m not saying this as your manager. I’m saying this as your friend. Kids like him all have the same problems, and I know exactly how you’ll be once you find the skeletons in his closet. Just be careful, alright?”

“I said goodnight.”

He hangs up. Tosses his phone to the other side of the bed. Rolls over, pulls his pillow over his head, lets out a groan. In all actuality, if Yuta cares enough to tell him this, he’s probably right, but Jaemin is stubborn. Nothing can surprise him about Donghyuck anymore. 

He shuts his eyes and tries again in vain to fall asleep. 

If Donghyuck has problems, he’ll fix them.

* * *

“Are we going back to the beach?” Jaemin asks, and beside him, Donghyuck squeezes his hand and grins. 

“Not quite,” Donghyuck says. “C’mon! I brought you out at this hour for a reason. We’re gonna miss the sunset.”

“I’ve seen a million sunsets, Hyuck, I’ll be fine if I miss this one.”

“I’m on time to all of your celebrity things, aren’t I? Do me a favor and _run,_ for once in your life.” Letting go of Jaemin’s hand, Donghyuck breaks into a steady run along the beach despite the fact that he can see the sun setting just fine. Reluctantly, Jaemin follows him, kicking up sand behind himself as he tries to stay in step with Donghyuck, who diverges onto a pier and waits for Jaemin to follow him. They stop at the end of the pier, and Donghyuck takes a seat, kicking his legs over the edge of the wood playfully. 

“Hermosa Beach pier,” he says quietly. “I know we’re supposed to go to crowded places so we create hype, but…” Donghyuck glances around the deserted pier and the near-empty beach. “But this is my favorite spot, and I thought I’d show it to you.”

The belly of the sun is starting to sink into the sea, casting an orange blush across everything in view, and Jaemin smiles at the sight. It’s gorgeous. And when he looks into the eyes of the boy beside him, he thinks that he, too, is gorgeous. When he says as much, a hushed, “You look really pretty,” Donghyucks shies away and stares at the water, trying to divert the attention from himself like he always does.

“The band brought me here all the time when I first joined,” he says. “We used to spend hours up here, no matter how crowded it was.”

Jaemin smiles at the thought of an angst-ridden teenage Donghyuck being forced to spend hours on the beach with strangers. Donghyuck seems fond of the memory, judging by the small laugh he lets out.

There’s something strange about tonight, Jaemin realizes. Maybe they’re sunsick, or maybe they’re just too mesmerized by the water and the sky before them, but this evening is hushed and soft. Donghyuck’s sharp edges are blurred. Jaemin’s own demeanor is quiet like the water dancing inches beneath Donghyuck’s feet.

“I went on a beach vacation one time, when I was little,” Donghyuck says, kicking his feet idly. “I saw the sun set on the ocean for the first time. My dad told me that the sun really did sink into the ocean, and if I listened, I’d hear it hissing. I got made fun of in science class when I told everybody.”

A laugh rips itself from Jaemin’s throat at the thought. 

“What about you? D’you have any family stories?”

Jaemin’s smile fades. He looks down at the water and finds that he doesn’t see it as calming as he did just a few seconds ago. “I don’t talk to my family very often,” he says. “Or ever.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck says. He looks out as a flock of gulls retreat into the sky. 

“I was four when they pushed me into my first acting role,” Jaemin says. “Never had a social life. No friends my age. Barely any education other than drama and acting classes. I had to fill out the gaps in everything I’d learned once I cut my family off.”

“You don’t have to tell me—” 

“—I want to,” Jaemin says decisively. “You trusted me with your story. I’m trusting you to tell mine.”

Donghyuck’s silent for a moment, but eventually, he nods. “Alright.”

“I’m not in this career by choice. I’m here ‘cause it’s the only thing I’m good for at this point,” Jaemin says. “And because I never got any chances to… To make friends and just be a normal kid. And now I’m not very good with people. So I’ve got this reputation, now, that I’m some cold-hearted, unfeeling actor who’s only in it for the money. And I don’t think I am.”

“You’re not,” Donghyuck confirms, shaking his head. “You’re not cold-hearted.”

Jaemin’s heart sinks. He doesn’t know why.

“...I wanted to change that. And so did Yuta. So he decided to have someone fake date me, and now we’re here.”

“Now we’re here,” Donghyuck echoes. “I don’t think you’re unfeeling. I think you’re good. You are to me, at least. You put up with a lot.”

“I know,” Jaemin says with a grin. 

Donghyuck swats his arm. “You’re not supposed to agree with me, jerk.”

“You said it, not me,” Jaemin says. He looks out over the ocean and thinks that maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe spending all his time with Donghyuck isn’t so bad, maybe Yuta was wrong. 

As Donghyuck launches into a loud and annoyed rant about lying for the sake of other people, Jaemin takes his hand and looks him in the eyes. The sun is blown orange in them.

 _Oh,_ he realizes. It’s not like he expects, nothing like he wants, but it’s exactly what it should be. Just _‘Oh.’_

“And even _if_ you thought that—” 

“Donghyuck,” Jaemin says slowly. “Cameras.” And then he kisses him as gently as he can, kisses him like that damn sun sinking into the sea, slow and painful and agonizing, and lets Donghyuck figure the rest out for himself. He tastes like strawberries today, and Jaemin realizes it’s his stupid chapstick that he’s always carrying in his pocket. But he kisses him again, and then again, and a few more times for good measure.

There aren’t even any cameras around. But Donghyuck doesn’t need to know that.

* * *

Jaemin has been looking forward to this show for well over a week. He’s missed seeing Donghyuck on stage, the energy of the crowd that he excites. And then everything is ruined.

It’s honestly surprising, how fast everything falls apart and then how quick Donghyuck is to put the pieces back together again in under a minute. The band is all made up and dressed, rehearsing and feeling out the light show behind them, giving Donghyuck pointers on his presence and receiving tips in return as Jaemin watches the madness from the sidelines. And then a tech hurries across the stage with a phone pressed to her ear, eyes wide and mouth moving so fast that Jaemin can barely understand what she’s saying.

“Call for you, Mr. Lee,” she says. “No, sorry, Mr. Huang. It’s for Mr. Huang. Yes, hold on, just one second, he’s right here… Sorry, here he is.”

She passes the phone to Renjun, and the band stops idly playing to give him the pleasure of being able to hear. Renjun presses the phone to his ear, greets whoever’s on the other line, and listens. As he does, his mouth settles into a thin line.

“I understand. It’s no trouble at all. I’ll be there soon.” Renjun ends the call and hands the tech the phone, unplugging his bass and pulling it up over his head. “Legal called,” he says to Donghyuck, who nods. “I have to stay with them and go over some things.”

“The show—”

“I’m the only one who can do it for them, Donghyuck,” Renjun says, and Donghyuck huffs, folding his arms over the top of his guitar. “You’ll have to cancel the show unless you’ve got a last-minute bassist.”

Donghyuck pauses for a moment. His eyes wander to the side of the stage, and Jaemin suddenly knows exactly what he’s thinking. He also knows that it’s a very bad idea. 

Donghyuck grins. “As a matter of fact, Injunnie, I do.”

* * *

When the stylists have done all the damage they can possibly do, Donghyuck tears Jaemin away from them and gives him the rundown of the set. He shows him how to play every song, tells him they’ve edited the setlist so that he won’t have to do anything too hard, and presses Renjun’s bass into his hands.

“You’ve got this, okay?” Donghyuck asks, and for a moment, he looks like he really does believe in Jaemin amidst all the chaos. “We’re on in five. You’re going to do great.”

“I don’t understand why _I_ had to be the one to do it.”

Donghyuck grins at him lopsidedly. “I’ll tell you everything later over drinks, alright?”

The moment he steps onto the stage and stands where he’s supposed to, he can almost feel Jeno’s glare on his back. But he ignores it, and when the show starts, he doesn’t have time to worry about anything but the slide of his fingers against the neck of the bass. The crowd notices pretty early on that Renjun’s missing, and once Donghyuck kisses Jaemin’s cheek before bounding across the stage to visit another side of the crowd, they piece together pretty quickly who’s on bass for the night.

It feels good, actually, to have so many people so thrilled over every little thing the band does. Selfishly, he thinks of the applause as his own halfway through the show, and he notices he plays better all the way until it ends. He’s careful not to trip over any wires or damage Renjun’s bass at all, even when he takes it off and it swings around by the strap without Jaemin’s hands to hold onto the body.

“You did good,” someone says at his side, and when Jaemin turns his head, he realizes it’s Jeno. “You’re not that bad, actually. I don’t mean at playing bass.”

Jaemin pauses for a moment, but Jeno ushers him along, showing him where to put Renjun’s bass so that it’ll be safely returned. “Thanks,” Jaemin settles on finally, and Jeno smiles a bit just as Donghyuck and Yangyang catch up to them.

“You did so well!” Donghyuck all but screams in his ear. “Come on, I know a place where we can go eat, it’s gonna be so fun, Jeno and Yangyang are coming with us, and—”

“Jeno and Yangyang are _tired,”_ Jeno says.

“Jeno and Yangyang are gonna get _drunk with us,”_ Donghyuck counters, and suddenly, they have two very content percussionists in tow.

The drinks are… Subpar, but they’re enough to start a conversation and keep it going, so Jaemin doesn’t complain, even when he’s pressed into the wall by Donghyuck’s closeness and can hardly breathe without smelling draft beer. 

“Injunnie couldn’t come?” Yangyang asks, sipping his water. He’s promised to join in on the next round of drinks, but Jaemin isn’t so sure that he’ll hold up that promise. 

Donghyuck shakes his head, then rests it on Jaemin’s shoulder. “No, he still working with legal.” his head comes back up again, and he turns to Jaemin. “Oh, I didn’t tell you why he couldn’t make it, did I?”

“Morrow House!” Jeno says, and his words are a little slurred, but the spirit is still there behind them.

Donghyuck laughs. “So, the first venue we ever played was this little record store that Renjun’s friend’s mom owned that had been in their family for generations, and it was called Morrow House Records. They haven’t been doing too well lately, and now the bank is trying to close in on it, so we’re doing everything we can to keep that from happening.”

“But why’d Renjun go?”

“He used to be a law student,” Yangyang says, laughing a little behind his hand. Beside him, Jeno dissolves into a fit of laughter. “He dropped out to form this band. He’s damn lucky it worked out, or else I would’ve dumped his ass.”

“You would _never,”_ Jeno manages, still cackling.

“So we spend a lot of time trying to… Y’know. Keep it going,” Donghyuck says. “It’s a lot of work, but I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if it closed. I feel like we’re responsible for saving it.”

“That’s…” Jaemin smiles. “That’s really sweet of you.”

Donghyuck smiles, and it lingers in his eyes for just a moment too long. He turns and raises his hand. “Another round? And Yangyang, will you _please_ join in on this one? I swear no one cares that you forgot your ID.”

“Yes, they do, you look twelve,” Jeno teases, then yelps when Yangyang smacks his arm. 

_“Another round?”_ Donghyuck says more loudly this time, voice straining over Yangyang and Jeno’s bickering voices. 

When the drinks are brought out, they take their glasses in hand and toast. “To Morrow House,” Donghyuck says suddenly, and Jaemin smiles. 

“To Morrow House.”

He drinks. It tastes like strawberries.

* * *

“Donghyuuuuuuck,” Jaemin warbles, stumbling into his apartment and following Donghyuck. “Hyuck, where are you going?”

“You spilled beer all over yourself, Jaem, I’m running you a bath.”

“I just wanna—” he hiccups. “I wanna sleep, can I sleep?”

“No, I’m gonna get you washed up and then you can sleep all you want. You don’t have anything to do tomorrow. I already cleared your schedule with Yuta ‘cause I knew you’d have a shitty hangover.”

Jaemin hums, tripping over his feet before catching himself on his kitchen counter. “You know me so well.”

The familiar sound of water running from the bathroom faucet prompts Jaemin to make his way to the bathroom, where Donghyuck is balanced on the edge of the tub trying to find the right temperature for the water.

“I can—” hiccup. “I can bathe myself.”

“I don’t trust you not to slip and fall even when you’re sober,” Donghyuck says, reaching down and plugging the drain. “I’ll help you.”

“Hyuck—”

“You don’t have to get naked,” Donghyuck says, exasperated, and for a second, Jaemin wonders how he knew his question exactly. 

“Perfect!” Jaemin says with a smile warmer than whatever is stirring up in his chest. He closes the bathroom door behind him and pulls off his shirt, and then he loses balance and falls onto the floor.

He can almost _hear_ Donghyuck rolling his eyes when he rises from his seat on the edge of the tub and nudges Jaemin’s shoulder with his toe. “Come on, idiot.”

“Donghyuuuuck,” Jaemin sings, face muffled by the bathroom tile. “It’s comfy down here.”

“It’s nasty down there, too. C’mon.” Donghyuck takes Jaemin’s hand and drags him up onto his feet before assuming the position of undresser.

 _“Hey—”_ Jaemin begins, but Donghyuck laughs, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down until they pool around his ankles.

“Relax, idiot, I’m not gonna try anything. I just wanna make sure you throw up onto clean clothes when you wake up in the morning.”

“How—” another hiccup. “How thoughtful of you.”

Donghyuck laughs and helps Jaemin into the tub. As soon as he sinks into the water, the fabric of his boxers sticks to his thigh, and it’s _uncomfortable,_ but Jaemin doesn’t say anything.

“There,” Donghyuck says, leaning over the tub to grab a cup and some shampoo. “Tilt your head back.”

“I can do it myself—”

“Can you let me do this?” Donghyuck says. His voice is a little harder now, a little more firm.

“Yes,” comes Jaemin’s quiet reply, tilting his head backward. He hears the sound of water splashing, and suddenly, there’s a cup pressing at his hairline, slowly tilting forward and pouring warm water down his scalp.

“S’not so bad, is it?” Donghyuck asks, dousing his hair again, but still just as slowly and carefully as the first time. 

“No,” Jaemin agrees.

Donghyuck uncaps the bottle of shampoo beside him and lathers it in his hands, then beckons Jaemin towards him. “Can you put your back to me, please?”

Jaemin hums, shifting to give Donghyuck a better angle. Donghyuck’s hands press into his scalp then, still gentle, and lather the shampoo. It feels nice. Feels safe.

“Is it okay?”

“It’s good,” Jaemin says, letting his eyes fall shut. As relaxed as he is, though, he can still feel the buzz of tonight’s drinks in his head, the small rush that accompanies them, and he smiles a little. “I’ve got…”

“You’ve got what?”

“I don’t even _know,”_ Jaemin says, and he laughs. He tilts his head back until he can see Donghyuck hovering above him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Donghyuck says, his hands covered in soap and frozen in the air. “Put your head back up.”

“You have really pretty eyes, you know that?” Jaemin asks, grinning when he sees Donghyuck splutter.

“Head. Up.”

“You’re pretty,” Jaemin sings, lifting his head back to where it was originally. Donghyuck smacks the back of his head. “Donghyuck, you are _so_ pretty, it’s unfair how—”

Donghyuck pours an entire cup of water on his head. He splutters, yelping at the sensation of shampoo in his eyes, and dives under the water to rinse his hair and rub his eyes. When he comes back up and wipes the water from his eyes, Donghyuck is laughing. 

“You’re so mean to me!”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes again. Jaemin wonders if he should start taking count. “Come back, I have to condition your hair.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin returns to his place in front of Donghyuck and lets him lather his hair with conditioner, then rinse it. The water is warm, but the feeling that catches in his throat is warmer, and suddenly, it’s all he can think about.

“Donghyuck,” he says slowly, listening to the water cascade off his scalp. “Hyuck, would you kiss me if I asked?”

Donghyuck pauses for a moment, but he hasn’t failed to give Jaemin an answer before, and he doesn’t fail now. “If you asked nicely, maybe,” he says, and Jaemin lets out a small sigh in relief. “But there aren’t any cameras here for us right now.”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

“So would you?” Jaemin asks. “Kiss me, I mean.”

“I guess so.”

“Will you?”

There are lips on his nape, then, and they move to the junction of his shoulder and neck, gentle but burning hot, and then they’re gone. Jaemin turns his head to ask for more, but Donghyuck is already moving to kiss him from the side, and he tastes like strawberries again, like the chapstick that he’s set on the bathroom counter to keep from getting wet, and suddenly, Jaemin can’t tell if he’s sober or drunker than ever.

Donghyuck pulls away. “That’s enough,” he says, cupping his hands and scooping up more water. He pours it along the side of Jaemin’s neck where he’d just kissed. Like it’ll clean it, like it’ll wash it away. “Let’s get you to bed. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jaemin echoes, his voice soft. Donghyuck pulls the plug from the drain and helps Jaemin stand. He towels him off, dries his hair, and gives him a fresh change of clothes, and when Jaemin emerges from the bathroom, Donghyuck is nowhere to be found. 

He walks through the apartment slowly. “Donghyuck?” he asks and is only met with silence. He finds him in the bedroom, dressed snugly in a spare change of Jaemin’s pajamas and curled on the bed quietly atop the covers. “Donghyuck,” Jaemin says, and the boy on the bed stirs.

“Sorry. S’comfy.”

“Yeah?” Jaemin prompts, closing the bedroom door and making his way to the bed in the dark. His phone is on the nightstand, something he’s thankful to Donghyuck for, and he plugs it in to charge before crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over himself. Donghyuck moves to do the same, and they lie in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Jaemin is nearly asleep when Donghyuck swallows and shifts in the bed, murmuring, “I’m doing something bad.”

He doesn’t elaborate, though, and Jaemin doesn’t have time to ask him to before they’re both unconscious dead weight in Jaemin’s bed.

When he wakes, it’s in warm pajamas and a cold bed that he realizes he’s alone. He doesn’t remember why, but he thinks that’s for the best, because there’s nothing to distract him from the one thought on his mind.

Jaemin picks up his phone and calls Yuta. When the call goes through, he says only one thing, and expects only one thing in return. 

“Set up a meeting with Morrow House Records tomorrow morning. Don’t ask questions.”

* * *

The record store is… Dingy, to say the least. But it has some kind of homey air to it that Jaemin can’t quite place, and he understands from the moment he walks in why Donghyuck loves this store so much.

“Mr. Na,” a woman says at the counter. She looks like the owner, a young woman with short dark hair pinned under a hat. “It’s nice to meet you. What brought you here today?”

“There’s someone I’m close with who’s concerned about the store,” Jaemin says. “I want to clear that up.”

“The concern?”

“All of it,” Jaemin says. “I’m willing to keep Morrow House from going under, if you’ll let me.”

The woman’s hand is covering her mouth, and she pauses for a moment. “You’re very straightforward, do you know that?”

Jaemin smiles. “I do. Can I please help you?”

“Of course,” she says, eyes comically wide, and Jaemin laughs, pulling a folded note from his pocket.

“I’m going to donate—” he slides the paper across the counter and waits for her to pick it up. “That much every month until you’re financially sound.”

She can’t even process the words coming from Jaemin’s mouth. She’s too busy staring at the number on the paper.

“I don’t—”

“I’m making the donations in Lee Donghyuck’s name,” Jaemin says. “I’ll have someone sent to you this evening to talk everything over, alright? Have a nice day.”

He turns to leave. 

“Wait!” she calls after him. Arms wrap around his waist from behind. _“Thank you.”_

Jaemin smiles. He pulls her arms away from him and turns to give her a real hug, and she has a motherly nature to her that he’s never had the pleasure of knowing before, so he revels in it now, letting her hug him to her heart’s content. “You’re welcome,” Jaemin replies, and his chest is warm, his throat is tight, and he’s so, so happy.

* * *

It’s seven in the evening, and someone has been knocking on his door for five minutes before Jaemin finally decides to give in and open up. He thinks that the _only_ person with enough dedication to knock on his door for five entire minutes is Donghyuck (though Donghyuck hasn’t returned his calls in well over a week), so he takes the chance, unbolts the door, and lets it swing open.

“Jaem,” Yuta greets, stepping inside without even being invited in. “Did you cook? Something smells.”

“I made a sandwich,” Jaemin says, and his stomach suddenly growls in anticipation of the meal that’ll be eaten even later because of Yuta’s visit. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, it doesn’t suit you,” Yuta advises, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. “And besides, you love me.”

“Debatable. But go on.”

“I have… News,” Yuta says, and Jaemin takes a seat with a frown. Yuta’s news is never good. “People are starting to say that your relationship is fake. They haven’t seen you two out in public as much, and the radio silence is starting to get suspicious.”

“And? We can just go on a date, if that’s true.”

“You’re missing the point,” Yuta says. “I’m here to tell you that if you want to break up with Donghyuck publicly, now is the perfect time to do it. And probably the only time you _can_ do it without something coming out about a fake relationship, and then your reputation’s gonna be trashed even more.”

“So do it now,” Jaemin says, and Yuta nods. “Except I don’t want to. And I’m not going to.”

Yuta props his arms on the counter. “You got attached.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Min, it’s _all_ my business. Everything to do with you is my business. My job is to keep you good in the eyes of the public, and you’re making it really hard right now.”

“You’re the one who wanted us to fake date.”

“I didn’t think you’d get this attached to some shitty punk rock kid who only cares about himself!” Yuta says, throwing his hands in the air. He’s grasping for straws. He stands, making his way back to the front door and tugging up his collar. “Look, whatever, I just came to give you advice since you won’t call or text back anymore. Have a nice night.”

“Yuta—”

“Do what you want, Jaemin, I’ll pick up the pieces just like I always do.” 

And then he’s gone. Suddenly, Jaemin isn’t so hungry. He picks up his phone and calls the only number worth calling anymore.

* * *

“Why am I here, Jaemin?” Lee Donghyuck says, staring out at the dark water below his feet on the pier that he claims he loves so much. If that’s true, then Jaemin wonders why he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

The sun has already set into the sea. There isn’t any light to dance in Donghyuck’s eyes, no orange blush to cast on his face, and Jaemin knows for certain that the light won’t play tricks on him tonight and make him say things that are better left unsaid.

“Dunno,” Jaemin says. “Why are you mad at me?”

Donghyuck doesn’t answer.

“The public’s starting to get worried about us. They think we’re a PR stunt now.”

“We _are_ a PR stunt.”

“Are we?” Jaemin asks. “Is that what you think?”

“What fucking else would we be?” Donghyuck says, and now he _sounds_ like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

Jaemin doesn’t answer, but instead poses a different question: “Yuta said that if we were to break up, this would be the time to do it. What do you think?”

“I think we should.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s time.”

“What did I _do,_ Donghyuck?” Jaemin asks, finally turning to face Donghyuck. He can’t see well in the dark, but clearly his mind has lied to him, because the moon is silver on Donghyuck’s face, and there goes his heart again, weak to whatever game Donghyuck wants to play with it. “I did something, and now you’re mad, and I don’t know why. What did I do?”

“When we played the show together, and you were on bass,” Donghyuck says. “We went out to drink. And you spilled beer on yourself, and I brought you home. Do you remember that?”

“I remember.”

“And I gave you a bath, and we fell asleep on your bed. Do you remember that?”

Jaemin nods.

“You kissed me. Well, you asked to. I kissed you, Jaemin, and there weren’t even any fucking cameras or people to see it. Why did I do that?”

“Seems pretty obvious to me,” Jaemin says. “Hyuck—”

“Let me finish. I don’t care how you feel, even though it’s pretty obvious to see even for someone like me. I don’t care how _I_ feel. I don’t care, okay? I’m done. I’m not worth your time anymore.”

“Donghyuck, yes you are,” Jaemin says, tilting his head. “Listen, I… Like you, a lot, and…”

“You can say it,” Donghyuck says wetly. “I know you’re dying to, so just do it.”

“And I _love_ you,” Jaemin says, the words trembling for a split second on his tongue before he can get them out. “I know there’s a lot I don’t know about you yet. But you’re incredible, Hyuck, do you know that? You’re the only person that’s ever made me feel like this, and I can’t keep spending every second of every day thinking about you like this, can I?”

“Which is why I’m done,” Donghyuck says quietly. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Why? Why would you want to be with me? I’m sarcastic and pissy and mean to people, and I don’t know when enough is enough, and I’m—”

“Because I want that!” Jaemin says, eyes burning with unshed tears and tongue numb to whatever falls from it. “I want your love, and your hate, and I want to see you angry, I want to see you cry, I want to see you asleep and vulnerable and I want _you,_ Hyuck, why can’t I have that? I want your heaven and your hell! I want to learn all your songs on the bass while you teach me and make fun of me for being bad! I want that!” he says. His voice softens, and quietly, he says, _“I want that.”_

Donghyuck stands. “You really are a good actor, huh?” he turns to retreat to the base of the pier, but before he steps forward and the wood creaks beneath his feet, he speaks again. “You’d be better off finding all that with someone who won’t waste your time, Jaemin. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want that with someone else, Hyuck,” Jaemin says, smiling pitifully now, alone on the edge of the pier as the ocean stirs beneath his feet. He wipes a tear from his cheek. “I want it with you.”

The groan of wood each time a step is taken farther and farther away is enough to tell him his answer.

* * *

“Hey,” Jaemin says, smiling thinly. “I’m glad I caught you here, I’ve been asking around for you guys.”

“He _lives!”_ Yangyang says, leaning back in his booth seat. Renjun flicks his ear, and in the opposite booth, Jeno scoots into the wall to make room for Jaemin. “Come sit! Have a drink with us.”

“No, I’ve got a meeting soon. I just wanted to tell you guys what was up.”

Jeno tilts his head. “So what _is_ up? I haven’t seen Donghyuck in a couple of days.”

“I have,” Renjun says, grimacing. “He says he’s sick. I say he’s a little bitch.”

Jaemin sighs. He takes a seat, deciding that this may take longer than he thought. “Go easy on him for a while, alright? He’s going through some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just…” Jaemin stares at the empty glass in front of Jeno. “You know how he and I are a PR stunt, right? We’re dating for our reputations?” when he receives a round of nods, he continues. “Well, we’re breaking up. I’m calling the meeting in fifteen minutes to tell our managers and legal teams to void the contract.”

Yangyang and Jeno’s faces are blank, but there’s something on Renjun’s face that Jaemin can only describe as _panic._ “Jaemin, no, you don’t need to do that.”

“I do. It’s what he wants.”

“It’s not,” Renjun says. “Have you told him? About Morrow House?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I work with their legal team, it’s hard not to notice something the size of my salary in a _year_ coming in every month. They told me it was in Donghyuck’s name. I figured out the rest.”

Jeno takes a drink from his glass. “I’m lost,” he says, setting the glass back down and turning to Renjun. 

“Jaemin has started making monthly donations to Morrow House in Donghyuck’s name. Big ones. Enough to keep them going for a long time.”

“But why…?”

“Because I care too much about Donghyuck to let something he loves so much get shut down. And I care about him too much to let him go on being in a fake relationship that’s apparently hurting him more than it’s helping him. So I’m sorry, but I really have a meeting to get to _soon,_ and—”

“Jaemin,” Renjun says, his hand catching on Jaemin’s arm as he tries to stand. “Don’t do this. Let me talk to Donghyuck first, at least. I can get something out of him.”

“I have to go,” Jaemin says again. He pulls his arm from Renjun’s grip and slides out of the booth, not looking back as he leaves the bar.

He thinks about Renjun’s words as he walks, and something about them gives him hope that something about this is salvageable. But Jaemin knows that it isn’t, it couldn’t possibly be. It’s over.

* * *

“Oh, Jaemin, you’re here,” Yuta says as Jaemin steps into the meeting room. “I guess we can start early, if that’s alright? Or should we wait for Haechan?”

“He’s not coming,” Jaemin mumbles. He takes a seat next to Yuta and across from Donghyuck’s manager (who looks as terrifying as ever) and legal team. It’s just Yuta and Jaemin on the other side of the table, and for a moment, Jaemin wonders why Yuta hasn’t invited any lawyers to be present before realizing that he doesn’t really care.

“So, we’re here today to negate the contract between Jaemin Na and Donghyuck Lee entailing a fake relationship to improve their images in the public,” Yuta says, then launches into a long string of legal jargon that Jaemin couldn’t understand even if he tried to. Instead, he stares out the window idly, listening to the low hum of Yuta’s voice and trying not to think about what’s about to happen.

“Out of curiosity, Mr. Na,” Donghyuck’s manager — a woman named Joohyun, if Jaemin remembers correctly — begins before pushing a strand of hair in front of her ear and tying the rest of it into a bun. “What brought about this decision?”

“We both agreed that it was better for our well-beings if we… If we stopped spending time together. It was getting to our heads.”

Jaemin can’t help it, but he thinks about the pier. His eyes start to water. “Sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “Can I have a minute? I need some air.”

“Of course,” Joohyun says, and Yuta’s hand tugs at his sleeve as he stands, but Jaemin pulls it from his grasp before he can say anything and darts out the door, closing it loudly behind him. 

He finds an end of the hallway that has all the doors open, meaning no one is there, and he makes his way to that end of the hallway and lets his fist fall on the metal frame of a door angrily before he presses his other hand against his temple and tries not to cry. It’s no use. The pressure that builds behind his eyes is too much, and the tears start to fall faster than he can dab at them with his sleeve. Eventually, he lets them go without even trying to wipe them.

And then a hand catches on his shoulder.

Jaemin is quickly spun around, and his eyes suddenly meet big browns and now he’s got a reason to cry all over again, and he _does,_ hands covering his face pathetically because he can’t let anyone see him like this.

“Jaemin,” Donghyuck says, softly, lulling, “Jaemin, Jaem, c’mon, don’t cry. Look at me.”

Jaemin breathes out, shaky at first, and wipes his eyes, finally resolving to look at the boy in front of him. He’s disheveled, hair matted to his face from sweat, chest heaving, eyes sunken and red, and Jaemin doesn’t care; he’s still just as pretty as he’s always been, and he _hates_ it.

Donghyuck reaches up with one hand and rests it against the side of Jaemin’s face, thumbing away a stray tear that’s fallen with a sad smile. “Look here. Why are you crying?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Jaemin croaks.

“I guess not,” he says, and then he’s closing his eyes and leaning forward and they’re _kissing again_ and it’s everything that Jaemin has wanted for days, weeks, months, because there’s something behind it that he can’t quite place but what feels a lot like love.

Donghyuck pulls away. “Listen,” he says. "I didn't turn you down because I didn't think I was worth your time. And I'm not, but that's not why. I turned you down because I was so scared of how you make me feel.”

Jaemin barely has enough time to rasp out, "What does that mean?" before his words are muffled with another kiss, this time softer, sweeter, and there’s no hint of strawberry to it at all. In truth, he thinks maybe he misses it.

“I don’t wanna break up,” Donghyuck says. “I want to do this. For real. Can we?”

“Why the change of heart?”

“Renjun broke into my apartment,” Donghyuck says, a little breathless but still laughing. “He told me about everything, about Morrow House, and… I figured it was time to stop acting stupid and go after what I wanted for once in my life.”

“Yeah?” Jaemin prods. “And that brought you to me?”

“Straight to you,” Donghyuck says, kissing him again and pressing him against the wall. He fits his hand into Jaemin’s, and when he pulls away, he drags Jaemin down the hallway and towards the meeting room where their managers are talking in hushed voices behind the door. “C’mon, let’s go tell them to call everything off, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, and hopefully he doesn’t look as breathless as he feels, because his heart is racing a mile a minute and there’s a boy’s hand in his and it’s not just any boy, it’s _his_ boy now, and all he can think is _mine, mine, mine,_ and there is nothing to describe the laughter that bubbles out of his chest at this feeling. 

He’d like to call it love, but he knows that it doesn’t even come close.

* * *

There’s a magazine on Donghyuck’s nightstand now, and every time he stays the night, Jaemin has to look at the insufferable front cover and ignore Donghyuck cackling at his disdain.

“It’s really stupid to keep an entire magazine documenting our relationship,” Jaemin tells him one evening when his nose is buried in a book lit by the dim lamp beside the magazine. There’s nothing for Jaemin to do besides stare at him, and he hopes it’s making Donghyuck as unsettled as the magazine makes Jaemin.

“Yeah? Tell that to the editor-in-chief at—” he glances over at the magazine to read the title: “— _Celebwatchers US._ ”

“I just might,” Jaemin says. “Can you please throw it away? It’s hideous.”

“No, I love the headline! _‘Punk rock icon meets lonely Hollywood actor — is it love at first sight?’”_ he says, seemingly reciting the headline from memory, and Jaemin groans, swatting his arm and, consequently, his book right out of his hands. “Jaemin, I lost my page!”

Jaemin hums. “Hm, well maybe if you didn’t keep that magazine, you’d—”

“Will you just shut up and do something romantic before I kick you out?”

“I _suppose,”_ Jaemin says, rolling over to press a kiss to Donghyuck’s temple. “How did I land you, of all people?”

“That’s just my charm,” Donghyuck says, grinning up at Jaemin before he leans up to kiss Jaemin but missing, kissing the corner of his mouth instead. “Or my curse.”

“You missed.”

“I’m getting there,” Donghyuck laughs before he finally slots their mouths together. They lie like that for what feels like forever to Jaemin, kissing languidly in the dim lamplight with no intentions of stopping.

Donghyuck tastes like strawberries, just like always. Jaemin finds that he’s come to love it.

**Author's Note:**

> and there it is! the very rushed yet drawn-out interpretation of prompt #0072: [actor! jaemin's manager is convinced that if he (fake) dates lee donghyuck, a frontman of a rising punk/rock band, his reputation with the press would surely improve. now if only lee donghyuck would behave himself and just agree to the plan so that jaemin could do his job and act as the (fake) doting boyfriend of his dreams]!!!!!! i am sorry to my prompter for making a playlist for deep six that consists of my guilty pleasure: compiling songs that i want to hear idols sing. turns out, most of the songs i had in mind for donghyuck (and deep six) weren't too rock or punk, more on the alt side than anything else, but i think it fits them rly well :')
> 
> i had SOOO much fun writing this and am so grateful to both my prompter and admin tea!!!! you both have done great work and i couldn't be happier that i got to write a fic and be a part of this fest! also, thank you to ted and shiloh and leo and cody, yall are real ones and i love you. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and please be sure to read the other 00ff works as i'm super hyped to read them as well!
> 
> ps: the title is from [snitches and talkers get stitches and walkers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=paZRnT7I9Vo) by fall out boy!
> 
> -daniel 123019
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


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